Return to Sender
by Vecturist
Summary: Sheppard awakes in a crashed puddlejumper. His last memory is of Atlantis under attack.
1. Chapter 1

For the SGAHC h/c whumping story challenge

Title: Return to Sender

Author: Vecurist

Rating: PG-13 to be safe

Disclaimer: Don't own anything associated with Stargate Atlantis except a DVD set.

Summary: Sheppard wakes up in a crashed puddlejumper. His last memories are of Atlantis under attack.

A/N: This bunny has been biting for quite awhile. I've tried to ignore it and get on with schoolwork to no avail. This is my break from protein sequences and fungal evolutionary history

Lt. Colonel John Sheppard lingered for moment in that blissful delicate bubble between sleep and wakefulness, in denial of pain, realizations and consequences. He knew that he was on something hard, most likely an infirmary bed, and half expected to hear a certain brogue to start issuing orders any moment. Nothing. No beeping of machines, no scolding by a certain Scotsman, no whining by a certain Canadian. The last

item, ruptured the membrane, consciousness flooding in, and had him on his feet, despite the protests of his head and ribs. He'd been on the floor of a jumper, make that a crashed jumper from the initial survey.

Crap. Ribs sore, probably bruised most likely, large goose egg of a bruise developing on the side of his head, all consistent with getting thrown from the impact of the crash. What crash? He certainly didn't remember a crash, although any landing you could walk away from was a good one He took a quick look around the inside, then popped the hatch for a quick look outside. That settled it – he wasn't going anywhere a while – even McKay, McGyver, and a case of duck tape couldn't fix the jumper. He was screwed. Even more so when he took in his surroundings – nothing but desert as far as the eye could see.

Back inside the jumper he took a quick survey – he had water and rations for two days - four if he was careful. That'd sure impress Carson and McKay. He thought of the two for a moment, trying to figure out what he was doing alone on this rock with a crashed jumper. Then the image hit, nearly dropping him to his knees as if in prayer or penance. The attack – the Wraith - swift, sudden, without warning. Piloting a jumper in a last ditch attempt to buy time, any time to evacuate people back to Earth, the alpha site, anywhere but Atlantis. Atlantis, in flames, burning. He thought he could almost hear her screaming.

After five days, Sheppard couldn't decide which was worse: dying of boredom or dying of thirst. Well, maybe it was a stupid question, he'd never heard of anyone actually dying of boredom. Despite the bruises and his weakened state, he'd attempted to survey the area around the jumper. Nothing, except sand and rocks. Not to mention the heat. He felt he was in a blast furnace. The last time he'd been in situation like this, he'd been stuck outside Yuma with a busted radiator in July. No 'Gate anywhere on the horizon. He was stuck, facing a certain, unpleasant end.

Maybe it was just as well. Maybe it was what he deserved. With little to occupy himself, his thoughts drifted to all those he'd disappointed, tried to protect, and ultimately let down. His parents. Mitch and Dex. And of course, the big one: everyone on Atlantis. He thought he'd found himself a chance to start fresh and he'd blown it, like always. His last impressions of Atlantis kept replaying in his mind like a stuck recording. People screaming. The frantic cries of Elizabeth and Rodney, Ronon and Teyla gearing up for a fight they knew they couldn't win. He'd brought this on all of them. He should have died with them, but he deserved his fate to die miserably and alone. He wondered if their ghosts would forgive him, because he could never forgive himself.

A/N: Yes, there is more. With more whumping. Yes, Yuma in July is bad.


	2. Chapter 2

Return to Sender, pt. 2

A/N: This may seem a bit choppy, but everything will make sense in time. Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing.

"Incoming wormhole," snapped the Canadian sergeant manning the gate controls. All heads swiveled to Gate, in almost a Pavlovian response. "It's Major Lorne's IDC, ma'am," he added almost apologetically to the woman standing nearby. Dr. Weir nodded silently. Three months of waiting for a certain Lt. Colonel to come through the gate, be it staggering or that cock-sure saunter of his. Three months of flickering hope, any incoming wormhole fanning the dying embers. She wondered if everyone else could see the new lines of worry that had been etched during this. She knew Lorne had his own set, the weight of command, like an older brother's hand me down coat, not quite fitting him despite the best of intentions. Ronon and two other marines emerged through the gate along with the city's newly designated commanding officer. There was a grim look of satisfaction on Lorne's face.

"We have a new lead on Sheppard's whereabouts. I believe it's credible," he stated flatly. She didn't ask him how he'd obtained the information. A little while ago she would have been ashamed of some of the interrogation methods, but that was then. That goodness Kavanaugh wasn't around to confirm his earlier accusations. The first few days they chased every lead, credible sounding or not, offering goods for information, any information. Then she had learned that threats were an effective filter, a display of force could coax the most unwilling to talk. Part of her still hated herself for silently condoning actions she would have been ashamed of not too long ago, but people change. It had been three months since Sheppard disappeared, since the hub had been taken, leaving the spokes to fall apart. At least that's what her Zen philosophy professor would have said. You don't see what holds everyone together until it disappears right before your eyes.

If they'd asked Dr. Heightmeyer, she'd have said it was like losing big at the craps tables. Some withdraw with what they have left, some play desperately trying to win it back. Teyla had withdrawn, choosing to spend increasing amounts of time on the mainland. Rodney had volunteered for every search committee, only to come up empty. He'd resigned from team missions, tired of constantly looking over his shoulder for a certain spiky haired colonel, as he had on that fateful day, someone who'd been covering his six as they'd tied to leave another negotiation gone bad. She wondered if Rodney blamed himself for Sheppard's disappearance. He'd withdrawn into his lab, the snark now more bite than bark – even Radek was terrified of confronting him on certain days, which were ever increasing in frequency.

Dr. Weir hadn't expected Ronon to stay, but he had, although now he was quicker to draw his sword or his gun when posing questions to a potential informant, but even she'd admit she was now more interested in potential intel than alliances. Screw diplomacy. Threats and force were the chief currency in this galaxy. She didn't know when she'd seen Carson last smile, he'd dutifully resigned himself to being a genetic guinea pig for any Ancient devices, as if this was some atonement for a forgotten slight to the Colonel on his part. Even Caldwell, for as by the books as he was, kept delaying the call for a replacement, adopting the mantra 'it's only temporary." She doubted he'd ever admit it, but he needed Sheppard as well.

As always, there was no shortage of volunteers a few hours later, but quieter and less numerous than in previous months. Elizabeth selected a limited team to head to the planet. She didn't know what she was sending them into, and it was better all around if a small number returned empty handed, as they had so many times before. In the end it was Major Lorne, Rodney, Ronon and Teyla. She thought for a long moment about including Carson, but hope was in limited supply these days. After the first month, she had resigned herself to the concept that finding Sheppard meant bringing home a body. The four headed toward the jumper bay. She was silent, as were the rest of the onlookers, unable yet again to find the proper words for a situation like this. Yet there was an unspoken 'Please, this time' on everyone lips, a silent supplication to whatever divine force was watching. One couldn't help but feel the population of Atlantis was down to one last desperate roll of the dice at the table. Everything was riding on this, the first new intel they'd had in a month.

Warning: contents under pressure would have been an apt label as the occupants of the puddlejumper sat silently, slowly digesting the data on the HUD as they skimmed the planet's surface. Three months ago Lorne would have baited McKay on the possibility of finding anything on this barren planet, and McKay would have complained about the heat, the sunlight, and the probability that the UV would damage his DNA. Instead he sat silently, the only proof of his growing frustration a set of whitening knuckles edging a laptop, whose screen might crack if he applied any more force. The edges of Ronon's chair were suffering the fate, fingertip impressions that would remain, testimony to the tension of the last few months. Teyla sat beside him, calm as ever, but there was a brittleness to her now; one wrong word and she might shatter, or, more likely explode.

There was a sharp intake of breath as a small object disturbed the landscape.

"How in the hell," muttered both Lorne and McKay.


	3. Chapter 3

Return to Sender part 3.

A/N: Small reference to Koschka's Scientist, Wraith Killer, Space Pilot (Hope you guys don't mind). Unfortunately the heat here in AZ is almost as bad as what I describe.

Colonel Sheppard knew the end was near. He'd stopped perspiring half a day ago, despite all his attempts to conserve and recycle, dutifully remembering his survival training. Sleep came in interrupted fits as various muscles alternated turns spasming, competing with his racing heart for causing the most discomfort. At least they seemed to keep the ghosts at bay, black menacing figures, always on the edges of his vision, whispering over him. He'd debated the easy way out a little while ago, but now he wasn't even sure he could hold a gun. One more thing he'd screw up.

The ghosts were back again. Four of them this time. Couldn't they just leave him alone? Vultures, they kept picking at him, despite his pathetic attempts to swat them away. Then he was floating, and the air felt cooler.

Lorne had parked the puddlejumper as close as he could to the remains they'd found. The heat backhanded him and the others across the face like a rejected lover's slap. Inside, sprawled on the floor, was one Lt. Colonel John Sheppard. For a moment he lay so still, skin so drawn, Teyla feared they'd arrived too late, despite the miracles of one Scottish physician. The sudden rise in his chest jolted them back into motion. Rodney scanned the interior of the non-functioning jumper, cautiously avoiding the baked pool of vomit in a corner, a million questions racing through his mind.

"McKay," interrupted Lorne, "We need to go. I don't think the Colonel has much time, and unless this place has sand worms, this jumper will stay where it is. You can come back later."

"Oh and I suppose you and the other jarheads will be betting how fast you can fry an egg here?" snapped McKay.

"Ostrich or chicken?" retorted the major without missing a beat. Teyla and Ronon grinned at each other – neither understood the references, but it served as a small reminder of how things used to be, and hopefully what they would return to.

The Coonel was carefully laid on the floor of the jumper and Lorne immediately shut the hatch and lifted off, heading back towards the Stargate.

"Hang in there sir," hw whispered under his breath, then contacted Atlantis. "We have him ma'am, but he's badly dehydrated. We need Dr. Beckett and a medical team standing by." He let out a deep sigh. They had Sheppard, hopefully he'd be able to explain some things.

In the back of the jumper, Teyla and McKay rifled through various medical supplies, trying to decide how to address the situation. They'd be back in Atlantis shortly, but both felt the need to do something, anything. Teyla settled for trying to cool the colonel's brow with cold cloths. Rodney thought he could try to start an IV, but knowing how he had done before, settled for trying to track Sheppard's racing heartbeat. Ronon would have paced if he could, but instead knelt at the colonel's side next to Rodney. Time seemed to slow to a snail's brisk pace. Lorne had the rear hatch of the jumper dropped almost before they landed.

Carson was almost shocked at the Colonel's gaunt appearance, the dehydration aging him a decade or two. They'd had some warning, courtesy of Major Lorne, but any of the medical personnel would be hard-pressed to admit seeing someone in this bad a condition in any suburban ER, save for one of the Air Force medics out of Luke, who'd had the misfortune to take a summer rotation in Phoenix and borne witness to the tragedy of a child forgotten in a car. Time froze for a moment, until someone hit fast forward, Dr. Beckett's voice resounded unexpectedly loud, calling orders, as a dozen personnel raced a gurney back to the infirmary. Rodney could have sworn the Scotsman had picked up a few choice phrases from Zelenka as he fumbled his third attempt to find a vein. What was more worrisome, was the patient's lack of complaint.

If Dr. Weir hadn't known better, she would have thought she'd interrupted an elaborate voodoo ritual, watching the white clad medical personnel hustle around a still figure when she arrived in the infirmary. More tubes and wires than she had seen before snaked over and under cooling blankets, challenging her to identify their function. She shook her head.

I'm sorry, lass, the battle's not over yet," cautioned Carson. "We're trying to stabilize him, replace all the fluids he's lost, but I have no idea what's really happened to him.

She stared at sunken eyes, closed above the oxygen mask. Small miracle, he was breathing on his own, although Carson kept glancing at various monitors as if debating if this was the best course of action. Sheppard's hair, unruly at the best of times, now stood almost completely on end, like a surprised cartoon character. She absentmindedly attempted to coax it flatter, searching for a connection with him, feeling it bounce back, lacquered into place from hardened sweat. Suddenly all the activity was too much, too many voices, the walls closing in, the fast approaching floor seductively offering comfort.

She awoke to a relieved and slightly guilty looking Scottish physician watching her. Nearby, Teyla, Ronon, Rodney and Major Lorne had camped out on various chairsand beds. "Sorry lass, you faint..., passed out, " Carson corrected, catching Rodney's glare. I let you rest and gave you a light sedative to help you catch up on the last few night's sleep." He held up a hand when she began to protest, "You and I both know better, you've been burning the candle at both ends. Colonel Sheppard has stabilized, but he'll be out of it for a little while. We've begun some preliminary scans. Other than the dehydration and some bruises, he appears fine."

She caught the question in his tone, "Appears fine?"

"Aye. We dug a little deeper. He's got quite a few old wounds, now healed,"

"How old," interrupted Major Lorne. "He couldn't have been in that jumper more than a few days and survived."

"Two to three months old. Someone or something did quite a number on him, then put him back together. Quite well in fact," answered Carson, shaking his head in puzzlement.

"Why torture him, let him heal, then leave him to die," demanded Ronon, failing to see the logic.

"That's the 64,000 dollar question," snapped Rodney. Ronon and Teyla glanced at each other and shrugged. Another Earth reference. "What puzzles me is the jumper. When we were on foot when Sheppard disappeared. How'd one of our jumpers get involved. And yes it appeared to one of our jumpers, down to the supplies on board."

"Hopefully, the Colonel will have answers when he wakes up," finished Teyla, speaking for all of them.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Return to Sender, part 4.

A/N: Classes are over for now, so hopefully I'll be able to update a little more frequently. Thanks for all the feedback, I really appreciate it.

Carson wasn't aware he'd been dozing until the scent of strong tea hit his nostrils and he found a large mug of his favorite blend sitting next to him on the desk. He quickly stretched and looked out the doorway to see one of the younger scientists setting mugs down near Drs. Weir and McKay as they dozed in yesterday's clothing on a couple of the extra beds. He took a sip from the mug and smiled; rumor had it that Rodney had berated the lab she was in, but added that, "at least Dr. Randall knows how to make good coffee, so she has something to contribute here in Atlantis." The second part of the rumor was that McKay had made life miserable for one of the lab's other members, refusing to admit he was wrong, had retorted, "When does experience at Starbucks trump a PhD?" The scientist caught the physician's eye as she looked over at the infirmary's final, member, then gave a small, guilty nod, which Carson returned. During the last two days, most of the population of Atlantis had visited the infirmary, hoping for a glimpse of the colonel, not unlike the religious faithful and skeptics alike, inspecting an announced miracle in the small, Central American town he'd spent a summer in with a relief group. Everyone needed proof that faith had been rewarded.

He could understand the emotional undercurrents still rippling through the city. The last three months had been difficult, to say the least. The coffee-bearing scientist had been into the infirmary a few times after sparring sessions with Ronon, along with a few other civilians, and most of the military detachment; frustration channeled into swords, sticks and fists, dulling pain from landed blows. He guessed it was an emotional bloodletting of sorts as people sought to defuse tempers in the only socially accepted way possible. The physician walked over to the still unconscious colonel, silently noting the readings as he kept an eye on the room's other occupants, whose brains now registered the presence of coffee. Dr. Weir sat up and stretched, scrubbing the remaining sleep from her eyes, and blushing momentarily at what she must look like, before reaching for the mug next to her and inhaling the welcome scent. Rodney remained sprawled out until his disembodied hand connected with the mug, then pulled himself up, muttering something about the 'coffee fairy.'

"How is he, Carson," asked Dr. Weir quietly, the same question she'd repeated regularly in the last forty-eight hours. Carson gave her a sympathetic glance. He'd expected Rodney to camp out in the infirmary, sometimes he wondered if the man actually slept in his quarters, but Elizabeth was a surprise. Of course, when he tried to encourage her to return to her quarters, she'd diplomatically pointed out that she'd seen her room more recently than he'd seen his. He couldn't come with an answer to that logic. Teyla and Ronon had also made regular appearances, but both appeared to be trying to reconcile the reappearance of the colonel with the cultural traditions that those once taken, did not return.

"He's improving," Carson answered cautiously. The first day had been a fight, trying to track Sheppard's vitals and reassure the man's various systems that everything was under control. He'd finally been able to thermoregulate yesterday, and fluid intake and urine output had normalized. Sheppard wasn't going to be happy about a few things, but Carson figured as soon as he began complaining, loudly, and plotting escape attempts, he was well on the road to recovery. Rodney nodded and Carson was tempted to check and see how he was feeling, the Canadian had been virtually silent since Sheppard had been brought in, as if speaking might shatter the illusion that he was finally back in Atlantis. "I'm hoping he might wake up today, although there are no guarantees," he added.

"I have a few questions for him," Rodney scowled, pausing for a moment, as winding up for a dispute.

"As do we all, Rodney," scolded Dr. Weir, calmly extinguishing the first spark of a tirade, as she shifted into more comfortable position to continue her vigil.

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The voices woke him again, like they had for several weeks, always on the edge of his consciousness, like the chirp of cicadas outside his bedroom window growing up, relentlessly persistent. They were slowly wearing him down, despite his continued struggles. He knew he couldn't win, but he couldn't give up, either.

"No," he rasped as panic built, feeling unfamiliar surrounding once again. He bolted upright, feeling the pull of various objects, a sudden wail, matching his pitch.

"Easy son," strong hands gently pushed him back. "You knocked a couple leads loose, you're alright, you're safe."

"John, you're safe, don't fight," a feminine voice echoed, trying to reassure him, as he continued to struggle against the pillow. "You're back in Atlantis."

"Atlantis?" he croaked, winning for a moment against the hands, then slumping back. "No," he whispered. "This is all some trick. I saw it in flames, Wraith darts, strafing the city."

"Well, sitting in that jumper must have fried more than a few brain cells," interrupted an acerbic voice. Colonel Sheppard's eyes snapped open, then scrunched shut at the sudden invasive lights. That voice could only belong to one person, couldn't be mimicked. When he opened them again, he saw the worried faces looking at him. "I saw Atlantis destroyed," he tried again in frustration.

"What do you remember before waking up in the jumper," asked Carson, holding a cup and a straw to his still-cracked lips.

Sheppard sucked tentatively for a moment as if collecting his thoughts. "The Wraith attacked. It was chaos, trying to evacuate everyone back to Earth. I remember grabbing a puddlejumper to go buy a few more minutes, seconds, anything." He shook his head, "The last thing I saw was the city in flames."

"There was no attack on Atlantis, John. You disappeared on a mission, didn't make it through the gate. Ronon was injured, so you were covering everyone. On foot," Elizabeth explained calmly, with emphasis on the last two words.

"There are no puddlejumpers missing," added Rodney, a bit more harshly than he intended, receiving two stern glares as reprimand.

John closed his eyes. "I don't remember."

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Carson was amazed at how stubborn Sheppard could be when focused on a particular goal; namely getting out of the infirmary as fast as possible. Despite the occurrences that had landed him there, this time was no exception, although Carson was secretly pleased by this quick recovery. Most of the wires and tubes had been removed after the first day he was awake, but Carson still wanted to keep him under close observation, despite the man's protests that he was fine. After three days, Carson was beginning to wonder who was torturing whom.

"I'm fine, doc," Sheppard complained tiredly, as the Scotsman checked his vitals yet again. He was tired of being on display, as it seemed everyone in the city kept checking on him. Not that he wasn't grateful for everyone's concern, especially those of Elizabeth and his team, but at times he felt he needed to make a couple signs to answer the same questions again and again. It was all a little grating and the whispers had come back shortly after he'd woken up. Not that he'd mention that to anyone, he's been in a state of denial that he'd been missing three months, until Rodney showed him the city's logs. All he wanted was for everyone to leave him alone, including the voices, who seemed to grow in crescendo. No matter how hard he tried, all he could recall was the attack and the jumper. He was, however, grateful that there'd been no mention yet of bringing Heightmeyer in.

"Do you know what a broken record is, Colonel? Get back into bed." grumbled Carson, half-wondering where this counted towards sainthood. "You still have a few injuries that are slow to heal, and I need to make sure you're ok. There's still a lot we don't know about what happened to you."

"What part of I'm fine, doc, don't you believe," he persisted as the voices thundered. He couldn't take it anymore. Something snapped and he gave into their demands. Grabbing a scalpel from a nearby tray, he whirled with speed and strength he didn't know he had, grabbing the physician and pressing the blade to the tender flesh of his throat. "I'm leaving now," he said to the startled medics and doctors in the infirmary, watching the scene unfold. He walked toward the door, dragging a terrified Dr. Beckett with him.

TBC

A/N: I actually got yelled at by one supervisor who finished with, "Well at least you know how to make coffee." Luckily it was a summer job.


	5. Chapter 5

Return to Sender part 5

A/N: I skipped going to campus today (it's graduation – no – not mine, yet - and I don't want to deal with the nightmare of parking), so quick update. I really appreciate all the reviews and feedback. This is a lot of fun to write and I'm glad people are enjoying it.

Small references to The Long Goodbye and Conversion

From his vantage point, such that it was, Dr. Beckett knew Colonel John Sheppard was not himself, small comfort that it was. No matter how many times he had grumbled about his treatment and the tests and the needles and muttered threats under his breath, the physician knew it would never come to this. The man's heart was clearly racing, his cool, precise, almost detached actions in direct contrast. He just wasn't himself, but what was he? Once Carson had recovered from his initial shock, he'd tried to go limp, become dead weight in his captor's arms, only to find the scalpel blade scratching a little deeper and felt the slight burn as basic blood reacts with the skin's acidic pH.

As Sheppard dragged him through Atlantis' hallways, he noted with mild irritation, the shocked and helpless expressions on various faces, the blade digging just a little deeper if anyone got too close. He would have thought that the events of the last year would have triggered some new emergency protocols, although he was grateful that some overzealous marine hadn't taken a shot yet. From what he'd seen from all the action movies he'd sat through on movie night, a clean shot was probably not possible, and not that he'd ever admit it, he wasn't willing to join the 'pins and needles – victim of a wraith stunner' club just yet.

Sheppard paused, and for a brief moment, Carson hoped the man had succumbed to exhaustion. Sheppard tightened his grip and Carson felt new rivulets of blood, larger ones, this time, trailing down his neck to his collar, the dark red in direct contrast to the white to the passerby. He shut his eyes against the pain, opening them when he heard a few dramatic gasps.

"Everyone. Out." Sheppard's voice coldly directed, the first words he'd spoken since the infirmary, the blade digging in once again for emphasis. This time Carson's eyes stayed closed, and his body sagged against the arms holding him. Sheppard dropped him with all the ceremony of an old duffle bag. Most of the room's occupants did as directed, scattering like startled pigeons.

"What the," snapped Rodney, voice trailing off as he saw the slumped physician and the military leader of Atlantis moving towards one of the consoles near the ZPM. For a moment, he hesitated, torn between checking Carson's condition – all that blood couldn't be a good sign- and distracting Sheppard from his intent. Whatever it was, it couldn't be benign from the look in the man's eye. A moment later, his worst fears were revealed, eyes widening at the commands mirrored on another console. "No," he shouted at Sheppard's hunched over figure, deep in concentration. "Sorry Carson, you can torture me with you voodoo and needles later, if we survive this," he half apologized and picked up the nearest object.

The laptop hit Sheppard squarely in the right shoulder blade, bumping him into the console. He looked at Rodney and picked up the bloody scalpel, a butcher eyeing a slab of meet.

"Look, you know what you're doing isn't good for Atlantis. Are you sure you're feeling alright? Should I call Elizabeth, or maybe Kate? We can talk this out," the physicist babbled, slowly backing up as Sheppard approached. Suddenly, two energy bursts hit the colonel and Rodney looked at Ronon and Major Lorne entering the room. "What took you so long," he scolded, looking at the medical personnel behind him.

Major Lorne looked at the still form of his commanding officer on the floor. "I hope he doesn't court-martial me later," he ventured, still taking in the scene as medics lifted Carson onto a gurney, hurriedly whispering among themselves. Sheppard they were not so gentle with and Lorne nodded at a few marines to follow.

"What happened," echoed Dr. Weir, glancing at the floor. Rodney followed her eyes to the partially shattered laptop.

"Don't worry, it was Kavanaugh's," explained McKay hastily. "Right now I need Zelenka, Cunningham, Simpson," he rattled off the names of a few more engineers and computer types. "When Sheppard recovers, we're going to have a little heart to heart about his mathematical talents. Seems the Colonel decided to use 5096 bit encryption."

"Slow down, Rodney, explain what's going on?" persisted a confused Dr. Weir. "What did Colonel Sheppard do?"

"Cliff notes version? Whacked out genius flyboy disabled and encrypted the shield and cloak. We can't set the self-destruct. The 'gate's locked down. Oh, and in about 15 minutes, we're going to start beaming a hail to the Wraith."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Return to Sender Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. Thanks for all the comments and I hope this lives up to expectations. Dr. Steve Schwartz belongs to Dr. Dredd (thanks for the loan).

Elizabeth Weir glanced around the conference room, trying to find a way to unknot her stomach, noting a very irritated Dr. Rodney McKay and a more frazzled than usual Dr. Zelenka. She could tell that Radek had borne the brunt of the Canadian's tirades again and made a mental note to again remind him his efforts did not unnoticed. The last few hours must have been extremely stressful, given the way Dr. McKay grabbed for a coffee mug and emptied its contents, before pouring an immediate refill, a drowning man clutching a life preserver. For a moment she idly wondered if she should get a second carafe, solely for him, then rejected the idea – sometimes the easiest way to end a meeting was Rodney's realization they were out of coffee,

At the end of the table, Ronon sat in his usual neutral mode. She wondered if he found his trust in Sheppard wavering, given all the Colonel had put him through. Next to him, Teyla radiated concern beneath her usual calm façade. Elizabeth was slightly relived to see Major Lorne fidgeting, unwillingly in charge once again, as he kept glancing back at the pair of marines flanking the door, who both nodded as Dr. Steve Schwartz entered the room, looking for a moment like the child who suddenly gets promoted to the adult table at Thanksgiving. He recovered quickly, suddenly all reassuring professional that he was, and chose a chair near Lorne.

"How is Carson," Elizabeth calmly asked, using the simple question in a bid for everyone's attention.

"He's lost some blood, but it looked worse than it actually was. He's a little shaken up obviously, but he's recovering quickly and we're pretty much keeping him for observation. We've convinced him to take it easy for a little while…." Rodney tried to cover a snicker with a cough and when Elizabeth and Steve looked at him, there was a mischievous grin on his face. He'd enjoy teasing Carson about this situation, knowing the Scotsman was probably insisting that he could at least get caught up with his charts. Elizabeth wondered what the infirmary staff had threatened Carson with for him to remain cooperative. She decided for the moment she was better off remaining innocent.

"Colonel Sheppard is still sedated. We've got him in restraints as much for his safety as for ours. We let the sedative wear off twice, and the resulting scene wasn't good," Schwartz seemed at a loss for words.

"Flyboy's still whacked out of his gourd?" summarized Rodney. "What haven't you tried yet? Electroshock therapy? Caldwell's going to have a field day, if we have to ship Sheppard back in a straitjacket."

Dr. McKay warmed up to continue his rant, but Schwartz shot him a pointed look, that said simply, 'Keep going and Biro will do your next physical, and you know she hates working with anything breathing.' Rodney visibly gulped and Dr. Schwartz added, "we're hoping that once Colonel Sheppard realizes the trigger event is over, he'll return to his senses. Maybe he can even give us more details about what happened to him. At this point, at least, we have time on our side, right?" Rodney looked almost embarrassed for a moment, as everyone pondered what would have happened, starting with Sheppard in the brig, had Caldwell been in Atlantis, rather than somewhere in hyperspace. Dr. McKay took a deep breath before he continued, in a milder tone, "the thing is, we could really use Sheppard's help. We thankfully managed to shut off the Wraith signal before it began broadcasting. We've gate control back so we can dial in and out, which thankfully rules out the Genii getting lucky and deciding to attack today of all days. We still can't cloak and we can't raise the shield, however, so we're sitting ducks if a Wraith hiveship decides to cruise by and check out all the potential neighborhood buffets. We've got the self-destruct partially back, but we can't set the timer beyond a few minutes, so someone will have to play hero," the physicist finished sounding as if he was reading off a grocery list for doomsday.

"What's the hold up," asked Lorne before Dr. Weir asked the same question.

Rodney hesitated a moment before he put on his 'I work with idiots' face. Radek gave a sympathetic glance to the other members of the table. "The Colonel encrypted everything with separate 5096 bit algorithms," then continued when he sensed the impending 'So.' "Two bit encryption has four possible solutions, since it is 2 raised to the power of two. 128 bit encryption, which most online services use, is two raised to the power of 128, so there are quite a few combinations to try. It can take a computer quite a while to try every numerical key, which is why they use it." Seeing the subdued looks on most of the faces, he added, "you see while this will take some time. I would have liked to be able to talk to the Colonel and understand where he pulled the algorithm from. He's got these Rainman moments that he won't explain."

Dr. Weir interrupted what she sensed were the beginnings of another frustrated tirade. "Please keep me informed if there any changes, and I mean any, I need to know about," she said calmly, dismissing the table's occupants. Rodney left muttering something about counting cards and brute force cracking. She didn't think it applied to Ronon, who excused himself, reminding Lorne that he had a few marines that were supposed to report for training. From the look on Lorne's face those individuals hadn't drawn a good time slot, but he remained seated. Teyla hesitated for a moment before following Dr. Schwartz out, presumably to the infirmary. Zelenka cast a quick glance at his departing boss, before turning his attention to Elizabeth.

"We'll solve this," he said solemnly, his tone indicating he speaking of more than just Atlantis' systems.

"What I want to know is why the elaborate ruse with the jumper, if the purpose was for the Colonel to destroy Atlantis? For all intents and purposes, they left him to die," sputtered Lorne. "It doesn't make any sense to me.

"Perhaps they weren't able to decide if Atlantis still existed or not. If it's the case, program him to destroy the city. If not, leave him to die a very horrible death, thinking he wasn't able to save the city," supplied Zelenka.

"No, that's too simple," corrected Dr. Weir, "That still doesn't explain the puddlejumper. We aren't missing any, and the intelligence you got was pretty detailed about where to find him."

"We have crashed a couple though, or maybe it was one recovered from another world, like the planet where found the other city. By all appearances, it one of ours, but I didn't study it too closely. Maybe they needed the jumper to make the story of a destroyed Atlantis real. Maybe they buried the mission to destroy the city underneath that. He'd be confused and not thinking clearly when we brought him back to Atlantis. We'd ask him what he remembered and he'd be frustrated, trying to reconcile what he knew and what we told him happened. We wouldn't probe much deeper. Sorry ma'am," Lorne apologized, "There's a lot of maybes and that's the extent of my psychological warfare knowledge."

"You could be on to something. I know it's not her general area of expertise, but I may have to ask Kate's opinion. Thank you gentlemen."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sheppard was suddenly awakened by a familiar brogue yelling "You daft bugger, what do you mean 'no?' He chuckled momentarily, someone had really managed to tick Carson off. He swallowed, noting the metallic taste in his mouth. One of the doctors must have sedated him. Then he noticed the restraints and the glaring marines near the bed. From the looks on their faces, Kavanaugh would beat him easily in a popularity contest. He glanced over at Carson, looking somewhat peeved in scrubs and a large bandage on his neck. For a moment he wondered if the Scotsman had any turtlenecks, then had a terrifying flashback of dragging Carson through the halls, a blade pressed to his neck. He hoped he had a good explanation, or he'd be avoiding the infirmary even more than usual.

Dr. Beckett noticed he was awake and tied to walk over to him, but was nudged somewhat gently back to his bed by a few a staff members and Sheppard found himself staring at Carson's 2IC.

How do you feel Colonel," Schwartz asked flicking a penlight in his eyes, and grabbing a blood pressure cuff.

"Sure, go ahead and torture a helpless man," the colonel responded, wincing at the light. "Ok, I know I must have done something, but I can't remember what," he pulled at the restraints apologetically. "I promise to behave," he continued his voice trailing off, feeling lost. Whatever he'd done, it had been serious. Schwartz and Beckett silently conferred, exchanging a few looks.

"I think we can take the restraints off, but the guards are going to stay for awhile," Schwartz decided, moving to unbuckle the stiff leather and shooting one of the marines a warning glance before he could protest. "Do you remember what happened?"

"No, except I have a recollection of dragging Carson through Atlantis at knife point. Guess Hallmark doesn't make an apology card for that."

"They don't make a 'Sorry I tried to blow up your city, and invite the Wraith to dinner,' card either, sniped Rodney from the doorway. What were you thinking? Oh, that's right, you weren't."

"Hello to you too, Rodney," Colonel Sheppard answered, slightly shocked at the venom in the man's tone. He nodded to Teyla standing behind him.

Despite a couple hours of alternating threats and cajoling, Colonel Sheppard was unable to recall any detail that had led him to re-program some of Atlantis' systems, or how he had, leaving Rodney where he had started: trying to crack the codes with brute force. Sensing the growing exasperation from both parties and fearful of a relapse, Schwartz kicked Dr. McKay out of the infirmary as gracefully as he could, which only involved one needle-related threat this time.

Teyla also turned to go, then leaned towards Colonel Sheppard in her usual Athosian greeting, trying to impart some comfort. As their foreheads touched, she suddenly stiffened, eyes widening.

"What's wrong," asked Sheppard worriedly, registering her shock.

"I sense the Wraith, yet not. Something feels familiar, but I cannot place it," she answered, staring at him intently.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Return to Sender, part 7

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. I really appreciate them. Quick reference to "Runner.'

Teyla hurried from Sheppard's bedside, a swirl of emotions she could not put proper names to threatening to overwhelm her. She had touched something in his mind. Wraith, but not, somehow familiar, like straining to understand the last reverberations of a dying echo, when one knows the language, but not the actual words.

"Are you alright lass," Carson rushed to her side, somehow sensing her confusion.

"Thank you, Dr. Beckett, I will be," she smiled as his staff glared at him, and then his bed. He pointedly ignored them.

"You look a little shaken." Carson put a reassuring hand on her arm, leading them both to the bed he was supposed to be confined to. "Is it something Colonel Sheppard said?

"I thought I sensed the Wraith within him, but it is unlike anything I have felt before. I cannot describe it. I know he is not Wraith, nor has he been touched by them. Perhaps I am simply tired," she tried to explain, smoothing the covers around the physician. "Perhaps things will be clearer in the morning."

"I hope for all our sakes, especially the Colonel's, they are. We still don't know what we're dealing with, and I don't think I'd like to see a repeat of today," Carson's speech was cut short by a rather large yawn, which he futilely tried to hide. Teyla merely smiled her agreement, patted his shoulder, and nodded her goodbyes as she left the infirmary, still puzzling over what she had experienced and her unsatisfactory attempt at an explanation.

In another section of the infirmary, Colonel John Sheppard was finding sleep elusive, despite his apparent weariness. He finally decided the source of his sleeplessness was all Rodney's fault, or more precisely the lack of one annoying Canadian. Somehow his ramblings served as an effective white noise generator, more soothing than any recording of waves lapping a shore. He looked hopefully at the marine standing guard nearby. "You don't by any chance want to pontificate on some random physics theory, do you?" The marine didn't even seem taken aback by the request and simply shook his head. Sheppard nodded back and set out again to find a comfortable position, but questions, like fish in an aquarium kept floating through his mind. He'd been gone for three months, but he couldn't remember any of it – he couldn't even remember the mission he'd supposedly disappeared on. Someone had snatched him up, held him, and then left him to die. Only he hadn't, but he'd attempted to destroy Atlantis and nearly killed Carson in the process.

Something had made him snap, that he was sure of, but what? He focused on his last thoughts, trying to find a thread to grab and unravel the whole charade. He felt as if he was boxing in the dark. He just couldn't remember, and the frustration was almost too much, until he heard the whispers, timid at first, then growing in volume.

"No," he screamed as fire raced around him, at him, even flowing through his veins. The vultures had left him to die on a funeral pyre. Watching. Singing, the chorus threatening to engulf him with more heat than even the flames generated. He thrashed against bonds that wouldn't give.

"Dr. Beckett! Dr. Schwartz," came the panicked cry from the marine, watching his commanding officer flailing, and nearly rolling off the bed. Despite the colonel's struggles he held the man in a bear-hug unsure if he was doing more harm than good, as a flurry of medical personnel appeared after a nerve racking few seconds.

"It's ok, lad," Dr. Beckett attempted to soothe. "You're safe. You're in Atlantis," he continued, ignoring that he was still barefoot and in scrubs. When his ministrations failed to evoke any response, he nodded to Schwartz, who emptied the contents of a syringe into the colonel's IV port.

The fires died out as a huge wave of water crested around him, drowning and washing away everything in its path. For a brief moment he looked at the concerned faces surrounding him and whispered "Get them out of my head," before following the oh so familiar siren song of darkness, slumping limply on the bed.

"Crap," swore Beckett, looking at the monitors. 'That's the third time, correct?" His 2IC nodded. "It may have been less violent than before, but it's taking a toll on all his systems. We need to find out what's going on." Everyone else silently agreed.

An hour later, as Colonel Sheppard slept, seemingly oblivious to the sense of concern and urgency, a number of personnel held conference. Carson had traded scrubs for his usual uniform after it became apparent keeping him off-duty was not an option, despite numerous threats from his staff, which he'd trumped with deciding duty assignments. A bloodstained square of gauze peaked out above his collar. He'd initially thought about replacing it with a large bandage until one of the nurses giggled, muttering something about a hickey, and a couple other women nearby blushed. That brought a brief smile from several other staff members, which almost had Carson swearing about 'bloody unprofessional lot,' until he decided that everyone needed a small break in the tension. Unfortunately he had to provide it.

"So, do we know anything new?" asked Dr. Weir as she surveyed the group.

"Something's provoking him, but I have yet to find the cause," summarized Carson, taking a mug of tea from the tray of drinks being passed around.

"He said something about, 'Get them out of my head," added Schwartz, grabbing a mug of coffee gratefully. "Obviously he's been manipulated in some way, however, the question remains how?"

"I believe there are very few groups with the technological know how," interjected Lorne, deciding to bypass the coffee.

"Yeah, and creatures that can suck the life out of you with their hands aren't supposed to exist, so anything's possible. Can you do some voodoo with his blood, Carson?" commented Rodney, snatching up a mug.

"Drugs usually don't remain in the blood long. It's highly unlikely we'd find anything," Carson replied, absentmindedly trying to scratch his neck, then deciding that reopening wounds was both a little painful and not a good idea.

"Not necessarily. There are other things to check," ventured Dr. Randall collecting the drink trays. "What?" She thought about rolling her eyes in her best McKay imitation, then decided against it. "You didn't hear this from me, and I mean it, seriously, but…." She quickly outlined a fairly simple test.

"I agree with Steve, though I'm doubtful of what we'll find. Still, better to check all possible answers. I'm going to have to report this to Stargate Command. They've given us plenty of leeway so far, but if Colonel Sheppard remains like this, given what happened," Dr. Weir let her voice trail off, not wanting to articulate consequences. "Carson, good to know you're back to work. Let me know your findings."

"Why do I always have to be Androcles," muttered Dr. Beckett to Dr. Weir as he approached the sleeping colonel, a small pair of scissors in hand. He understood now the promise Dr. Randall had extracted, as he collected a few spikes of black hair, capturing them in a small vial he'd hand over for chemical analysis. She couldn't help but cringe at the apparent travesty, but settled back to watch Sheppard's sleeping form. He seemed so unnatural in this chemically induced stillness. Teyla joined her a short while later, apologizing for missing the earlier meeting.

"They had to sedate him again. Apparently something caused another seizure. Carson's worried, as am I. He can't function like this and we don't know the cause," explained Dr. Weir as the Athosian studied the sleeping form.

"I do not know how to explain it, but I sensed the Wraith earlier with him, but it was unlike anything I have ever felt before. It felt familiar, like something I should recognize, but could not," Dr. Weir studied her for a moment as she tried to explain, eyes widening at the mention of the Wraith.

"If Carson doesn't find anything, I'm going to bring Kate in. I know he won't be thrilled, but I'm sure Sheppard has to understand how severe the situation is. "

Actually, half a day later, when Sheppard finally woke, Elizabeth had everything arranged, so he was hardly in a position to refuse. The hair analysis had not revealed anything, so he was back to square one for a plausible explanation. As much as hated the thought of hypnosis and having to walk someone through his memories, the idea that he had been deliberately toyed with and someone had 'slapped his brain around like a hockey puck' as McKay so eloquently put it, annoyed him even more, so he reluctantly agreed. Halfway through the preparations he was almost ready to call it off, though, and spend the rest of his life heavily medicated. It seemed to him Carson was getting even with him for the hostage taking by slapping every electrode in the infirmary somewhere on him, with a heavy concentration on his scalp. He'd heard about Carson's long-term drug sampling and was about to complain, when he realized how worried and exhausted Elizabeth looked. That grounded him and he endured the rest of the preparations silently, although he was sure his facial expression spoke volumes.

"I'm going to have Carson give you a mild sedative to relax, then we'll begin the hypnosis," Kate seemed to hesitate for a moment, unsure of her next question. "We have a few concerns," she said delicately. You've been through several seizure-type events. We can either put you in restraints and try and talk you through it. You may, with our help, struggle through what's causing these episodes, and help us determine what's causing them. The other solution is to sedate you at the first signs of a struggle."

A brief flash of what he experienced before helped him make up his mind. "I don't think I could live through what I felt before." He struggled for words. From the look on Dr. Heightmeyer's face, it wasn't what she had wanted to hear, but he shrugged as best he could. Out the corner of his eye, he noticed Carson laying out several syringes. For a brief moment he wondered if the sights he'd witnessed in the Pegasus outweighed all the tests and needle sticks he'd had to endure. Right now he figured it was a dead heat.

"Ok, I'm administering the dose," came Carson's brogue somewhere near his shoulder," as he felt a comfortable warmth spread through him. Sunday morning half asleep under various quilts and blankets, mom calling him for breakfast. Funny, she sounds a lot like Heightmeyer. Elizabeth, Kate, and Carson exchanged nervous glances, then looked at the half-ring of marines surrounding the bed. Rodney looked like he was witnessing a train wreck, half horrified, half fascinated, completely unable to tear himself away.

"You mentioned voices before, Colonel. Can you focus on them, describe them?" There was a collective holding of breath as the man in question squirmed, trying to wriggle out of something's grasp.

His voice came out as a whisper, part in awe, part fearful. "They're Athosian."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Return to Sender: Chapter 8

Spoilers: The Gift and The Hive

A/N: Thanks for the patience and reviews for those following the story. This chapter did not want to get written, but I promise updates will be faster. I haven't taken psychology and it has been a while since I had neurobiology, so pardon any technical mistakes.

"They're Athosian," repeated Colonel Sheppard, struggling against the surge of emotions from the previously repressed memory, trying to stay calm. For a moment the voices seemed to be everywhere, surrounding him, taunting him, as he lay battered on the floor, whispering that he'd left Atlantis to her doom, that he was a failure. He fought them as long as he could, built walls, panic slipping in like water through a crack, until he couldn't fend them off. "No," he pleaded, pain, white hot and relentless shooting through his mind. He briefly heard small alarms going off, felt the tension of various leads as his back arched off the bed, then something cool and comforting sped through veins and the voices receded into the background. "I'll have to apologize to Carson again," was his last thought as he slumped into unconsciousness.

Dr. Kate Heightmeyer was glaring at Carson, as he slowly withdrew an empty syringe. "You could have given me a few more minutes. I think I could have talked him through it, gotten a few more details."

"I'm sorry, but all his readings were starting to spike. Trying to remember what has happened to him is devastating him. We're going to have to find another approach. Whatever they did to him, is affecting several of the brain's processing centers, as well as his respiratory and adrenal functions. Trying to remember is quite literally agony. He's finding himself in 'fight or flight' mode, without the appropriate time to recover," explained Carson, more calmly than he felt, gesturing to various monitors, cursors now tracing less dramatic peaks. "I'll have to review what I have in the pharmacy, but its not like I can simply repress a neural-electrical signal," Carson raked a hand through his hair in frustration, then double checked the vitals on Colonel Sheppard, who seemed to be slumbering peacefully again.

"I'll leave you witch doctors to stare at chicken entrails and tea leaves," muttered Rodney ignoring the sudden glares from the medical staff. "I better go check and make Zelenka hasn't crashed the network with the computers he was hooking up. More likely he's got a city wide online poker tournament going," the physicist gruffly pushed past the marines standing guard, with more force than necessary, frustration clearly evident on his face.

"I agree this is complex, but we have to understand what's happened to him. Given his reactions, there's several 'blocks' so to speak, controlling his memory. We need to identify them and remove them if possible. Who knows what else may happen and certainly we owe it to Colonel Sheppard to help him. Stargate Command will most likely not allow him to remain here if they decide he poses a threat." Kate threw up her hands defensively in her best 'we're all on the same side,' gesture. "I'll admit I'm almost as stumped as you with how to solve this, but as uncomfortable as this was for him, regressive hypnosis may be the best option. We at least may have found out who's behind this."

"We need to talk to Tyela," said Dr. Weir, weighing her words carefully, and trying to head off a possible conflict between the two. "I know she has some understanding of her abilities, and she was told that others with her talents were banished and possibly destroyed by the Wraith. Is it possible there were other survivors?"

Carson expression seemed to shift as he switched tangents. "It's always possible there could have been an isolated pocket or two of survivors. If they remained a small, self-contained group, it's likely that they would have a stronger telepathic ability. Population genetics was never my strong suit, but we're talking a founder's effect here. It seems they couldn't read minds, but they could influence thoughts or plant suggestions, as evidenced by the Colonel's actions."

"Why would they collaborate with the Wraith though? That doesn't make sense." Dr. Weir interrupted, feeling like she back in intro bio.

"Stockholm syndrome," mused Kate, also trying to digest Beckett's reasoning. "They were banished from their homes and families. Maybe not in the first or second generation, but there's bound to be some resentment that festered at those actions and lack of understanding. At some point, it's only natural that they'd see their new abilities as a gift from the Wraith, something that set them aside from everyone else. With that in mind, they may even be Wraith worshippers."

"I see," nodded Weir, who couldn't really understand anyone willing entering into an arrangement with the Wraith, despite the few reports she'd heard. It was a bargain with the devil, at best, and she'd been in diplomatic circles long enough to know how those usually ended. She did understand the lure of power and how it could corrupt.

"It does make sense," insisted Kate, snapping Elizabeth out of her own musings. Somehow she'd missed Carson's response. "I think they'd at some point become either grateful or feel singled out because of their talents. How better to repay the Wraith for that than to give them Atlantis or at the least eliminate one of their concerns, although I don't know if the Wraith would reward the second initiative. I think the jumper served two purposes, first to hide their true programming, and second to foster the Colonel's sense of guilt if we didn't find him in time. It's amazing really."

Dr. Weir was a little shocked at her friend's tone and the thoughtful expression on Carson's face. For the moment Colonel John Sheppard had ceased to be a trusted friend and colleague and was relegated to that of a lab rat who'd survived a particularly interesting maze. "He's a strong man," she said simply. "I don't want to think what they did to him to bring him to this point," swinging the colonel's condition from the abstract to the concrete. The Scotsman looked away guiltily for his lapse, but Kate continued to view the man's condition with a clinician's eye, until Dr. Weir met her gaze. "I know this is all fascinating, but as you said a moment ago, we owe it to him."

"I guess this isn't something I can publish," Kate finally said, standing up and getting ready to leave. "Let me know when he wakes up and what help Teyla can provide." The first part of the statement was directed at Carson, the second at Elizabeth.

"The bloody fool keeps finding himself the guinea pig, whether he likes it or not," muttered Carson as the two women left. He was certain back at the SGC, the Colonel's medical records from the Pegasus galaxy rivaled the thickness of several Manhattan phone books.

Dr. Weir did not immediately seek out Teyla and instead made a detour back towards the control room and physics labs. As expected, Rodney was haranguing anyone within earshot, and she was almost afraid to count how many times he used the word 'idiot' or some variation of in the few moments she stood there unnoticed. The physicist must have commandeered every available computer in the city, as well as several coffeepots in his attempt to crack Sheppard's algorithm. "We're slowly making progress," explained Radek hurrying over. "Dr. McKay thinks he has developed several shortcuts and we now have the full self-destruct back. It is simply matter of time before we have the shield and cloak back," he smiled sheepishly at his boss, practically dancing with tension. Elizabeth exchanged a small smile with the Czech. Both would never publicly admit that it appeared Rodney lived for a crisis. Force the Canadian to take a week off and he'd most likely implode or, at the least, start complaining that his genius wasn't being taken advantage of. As her grandmother would say, he'd complain if they told him they were going to use a new rope for his hanging. A friend in jeopardy, however, complicated matters, and from the determined set of his jaw, the Canadian was coping with frustration for two – and she knew who the other was.

"Did those voodoo practitioners come up with anything else?" he snapped, attempting to mask his concern. "Sometimes I really wonder if Carson knows what he's doing, or he's just got the luck of the universe with his guesses."

"No, but I'm off to speak with Teyla. I'm sure some of this session will; be a shock to her, but there may be some way she can help."

"She did say she sensed something earlier, maybe she can connect with him." Rodney rolled his eyes. "Crap, now I'm sounding like one of them."

TBC

A/N: In genetics, founder's effect is the tendency of a gene or set of genes to occur much more frequently than in a larger population over time. This can occur in geographically (Iceland) or culturally isolated groups (Amish).


	9. Chapter 9

Return to Sender: Chapter 9

A/N: Sorry for the delay to anyone still following. I'm not abandoning this fic and I do promise to finish…

Rodney blanched almost immediately after the words tumbled out, and Dr. Weir couldn't help but give him a reassuring look. Somehow, despite all that the inhabitants of Atlantis, particularly the more 'senior' members of the expedition, had already seen and encountered during their time in the Pegasus galaxy, there remained plenty of new things to shock them and keep them on their toes. The last few days could be considered just another case study of how life seldom followed a rulebook. More importantly, Dr. Weir knew, despite his obvious bluster, McKay's anxiety regarding both the city and Colonel Sheppard's condition was quite apparent; of course only with someone like Rodney McKay could you measure concern by the acidity of his sarcasm. She idly wondered if someone had a scale, like litmus paper documenting just how worried he was. "We'll figure this out, one way or another," she finally stated, trying to make the words more optimistic than she felt. McKay nodded distractedly, half hearing, half lost in thought as he mind churned through possible equations to solve the one of the encryption keys. She shrugged slightly as Radek held her gaze for a moment, trying to impart some of his own brand of wisdom and optimism. Sometimes she wondered what the Czech had witnessed a lifetime ago to both withstand the upheavals and oppression in his native country and continues moving forward. Sometimes she thought he must have traded one regime for another, considering his boss' moods some days.

She broke the connection, nodding to several techs as she exited and resumed her search for Teyla. Although heading to her office, getting on the radio and asking the Athosian to meet her there was probably the most straightforward course of action, it was probably the least personal. She'd prefer to talk to Teyla in a more comfortable setting, approaching the woman on her terms. She realized she was dreading opening the discussion, or more specifically, how Teyla would react to the first few words out of her mouth. Despite her numerous years in diplomacy, this is one the few times she was completely at a loss for how to open a dialogue, phrases tumbling uselessly around in her mind, like mismatched socks in a dryer.

Dr. Weir found Teyla alone in the gym, shadowboxing with her usual pair of sticks, warding off unseen dangers. For a moment she stood silently and watched as the younger woman embodied both grace and ferocity in her fluid motion. As Teyla finished a series of movements, someone with a background in the martial arts might have described as a kata, Dr. Weir cleared her throat.

"You would not have interrupted me, Dr. Weir," stated Teyla as she turned to face the other woman. "I heard you come in."

Dr. Weir blushed for a moment, feeling a little like a voyeur. "Dr. Heightmeyer talked to Colonel Sheppard, and he was able to give us some information about what happened. "The Colonel thinks those who abducted him were Athosian. Carson theorizes that a small group of the returnees may have settled somewhere after they were banished. From what I understand, this small group, over many generations, could have developed stronger telepathic powers, that they used for influencing people," she finished awkwardly. She felt like she was trying to rip off a sticky bandage, trying to convey all the pertinent facts quickly, in the interest of inflicting as little pain as possible. She paused for Teyla's reaction and the questions sure to follow.

Teyla normally hid her emotions well, but the shock of what the expeditionary leader told her hit her like an unexpected blow. Disbelief, sadness, and fury all warred across her face and she was silent for several moments, struggling to straighten out her thoughts. "I was told they had all been banished, scattering among various worlds, surely…" replied Teyla, disbelief coloring her features and speech, unable to finish her sentence. "Surely that many couldn't have escaped destruction and culling over the generations without attracting notice? How did they hidden? If the Wraith were upset with the original research, why would they tolerate such a thing now?" Teyla slumped against a nearby wall, defeated by the sudden revelations and the new questions they would surely unleash. At least her own talents would not raise suspicion now, like they once might have.

Dr. Weir noted Teyla's hesitation to fully acknowledge a group of people that despite time, she might be distantly related to. It was one thing to discover a whole new branch of the family tree, and quite another to find out they might be in collusion with the Wraith. "I'm afraid we may not find all the answers and I know this whole situation may be extremely uncomfortable for you and I'll even admit I'm not sure how to handle these revelations, shocking as they may be. I do know, however, that I think both Drs. Beckett and Heightmeyer could use your help. Colonel Sheppard's attempts to remember what happened are extremely detrimental to his health, but we can't afford to take a chance and allow him to assume his regular routine without understanding what's been done to him. As much as it frustrates me to admit it, for all we know, he could have a relapse and succeed this time in destroying the city or damaging the systems beyond repair. The Daedalus will be here soon, and unless we can resolve this, there are very few options open," Dr. Weir trailed off, not willing to elaborate on what Colonel Sheppard's fate on Earth might be, given the security risk he most likely posed. Teyla matched her worried expression, realizing that simply exiling the colonel to the mainland was not a choice either. The two leaders faced each other in quiet contemplation, not willing to allow words to shape their fears, yet in complete agreement on the simple fact that the loss of one Colonel John Sheppard would cripple Atlantis on a multitude of levels. He was, as Dr. Weir had reflected on numerous occasions when had been missing, what held them together. Examine a tangle of rope: pick the correct thread to pull and the knot simply falls apart. Atlantis, both the city and her people needed him.

"I will go see Colonel Sheppard again, and talk to Dr. Beckett," said Teyla so quietly, that Dr. Weir fist thought she was imagining it. "I was able to sense something before, now that I understand some of what may have happened, perhaps there is something I can do," despite her whispering, no one would deny the steel in her voice. Teyla would risk everything against a potential threat from the Wraith, but Elizabeth couldn't help but notice a slight nervousness in the Athosian's eyes. She'd only begun to tentatively test the boundaries of her power: this was uncertain territory for her as well, yet like so many other things she'd done in the past two years, she was willing to venture ahead.

The two parted ways in the hallways approaching the central part of the city, Dr. Weir, murmuring excuses of the need to keep up with paperwork and track the progress of Dr. McKay and his team attempting to crack the remaining encryptions. Teyla headed towards the infirmary, with the understanding something needed to be done soon.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Return to Sender: Chapter 10

A/N: Thanks for all the kind reviews and encouragement. Glad to people are still with me. Anyhow, I beg for a little understanding and leniency in this chapter regarding Teyla's talents, since the TPTB have never really elaborated on what she can do. Anyhow, I hope this is all logical and not too over the top – it amazes me about how little we really know about how the brain works. I should give credit to a couple of William Gibson's short stories (particularly 'The Winter Market' for some impressions of what it might be like to tap into another person's thoughts and emotions.

A few references to 'Instinct', 'Conversion' and 'The Gift'

A/N2: Sorry again for the delay with this story. Between a new house and problems with my graduate program (I had to find a new advisor and project – the closest analogy I can come up with it is one part finding a new boss and job, with the emotional commitment that comes with a serious relationship). Things are working themselves out, but I'm in a totally different field than before (I switched from cell biology and phylogeny to cancer biology and genetics) and I've had to hit the ground running trying to do a literature review and come up with a good, workable experiment (although I think I'm on the road to Stockholm as I joke with friends).

Teyla strode towards the infirmary, nodding at those who acknowledged her presence, but grateful she did not encounter anyone wishing to stop and talk. Dr. Weir's news had deeply shaken her and Teyla was not sure if she'd be able to hold a coherent conversation with anyone and instead tried to focus on what she could do for Colonel Sheppard. Despite what she had discovered about her talents, the Athosian knew she had not yet truly explored the depth of what she was capable of. Yes, she had tried to reach out and connect to the Wraith on several occasions, but the resulting lack of control and the visceral intensity of another's mind had shaken her almost as much as her aggressive actions during her first attempt. She was far more comfortable simply sensing their presence off-world and providing an early warning.

It had been quite some time since she had made any attempts at any connection of sorts. Although she had sensed Ellia's differences upon their first meeting, she had made no attempt to reach out to the girl after she had taken Dr. Beckett's retrovirus. Likewise she had not reached out to Colonel Sheppard during his transformation, either before or after. Part of her denied that it would not have even been possible to link to either of them, but a deeper part of her was ashamed that she feared what she might see in the darkness and struggle. When they found Sheppard in the wrecked puddlejumper, she'd already been able to sense something had touched the colonel's mind, but she'd been unsure of what, confused by the familiar yet unfamiliar sensations she'd experienced, like hearing a recognizable voice murmuring in a nearby room. From what Dr. Weir had told her, it appeared to make sense, but it also made it all the more disturbing.

Now she knew that rather than tentatively reaching out, she'd be the one forcing the connection, and it frightened her; whether that was because of what she would see, or what she could do, she did not yet know.

Reaching the infirmary, she was momentarily unsure what to make of the relative quiet. Despite all her time in this section of Atlantis, she was still puzzling over what was more disconcerting – the quiet, a momentary calm in the storm, or the frantic noise and activity of someone in distress. Neither was an ideal situation, she finally decided. She spotted Colonel Sheppard, apparently asleep, off in a somewhat isolated corner with an IV stand and heart monitor keeping vigil. At least most of him appeared asleep; the telltale thatch of dark hair unruly as ever, perhaps manifesting some unconscious desire or decision of its bearer to never truly relax. She pulled a chair over the floor's smooth surface to a position nearer the bed, studying the sleeping figure intently. The restraints from earlier were gone, but she could see a patch of raw skin on one exposed wrist and she flinched at the both the strength and emotional state capable of generating such a wound.

"He'll be asleep for a few more hours, lass" explained a brogue behind her. "I really don't know what else to do for him, but I figured there's no harm in letting his body try to recuperate for the next round."

"Dr. Beckett, Dr Weir explained the situation to me. I am willing help in any way that I can, although I am not sure what I can do," she replied, seeing the worried look on the physician's face. She'd almost say that his normally bright eyes had lost some of their brilliance. "Until it was necessary with the Wraith, I have never tried to reach out to someone's mind. Although I can sense something within Colonel Sheppard, I have no idea of the depth or the intensity of this influence." She hesitated for a moment trying to find the words she needed. "

Carson put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, trying to show she was not stumbling alone through this crisis. "Aye, lass. Humans as a whole are not telepathic. You're the first documented case I've seen of this talent. Usually claims of telepathic abilities are fodder for the supermarket tabloids." He pinked slightly at the stiffening of her shoulders as he realized he'd slipped into clinical mode and uttered what could be construed as an insult with the unfamiliar phrase. He took his hand off her shoulder and stuck it back in his lab coat pocket, digging for something more substantial to fidget with than lint. "I'm sorry, the Wraith are the first species I've dealt with that possess some sort of ability to interfere with the mind. From what we've witnessed and what you and your people have described, these actions have been temporary and require either fairly close contact or for both parties to demonstrate some level of telepathy. On Earth, various governments have experimented with mind control with willing participants, but nothing like this has been documented that I know of, nothing so devastating that trying to remember what happened to him is killing him."

"You … we will figure this out." Teyla put her hand on his, stilling his scrabbling motion. She looked at the sleeping colonel again, hesitation written across her features.

"Wait until he wakes. This is something to discuss with Colonel Sheppard. We both know how private the man is, how much he keeps held in. I don't know how he's going to react to the idea of someone in his mind, if it is even possible." Carson paused for a moment. "I can think of nothing more intimate than sharing someone else's thoughts, emotions." Both blushed and Teyla raised an eyebrow. Carson shrugged, flushing a deeper shade of crimson. "That's how I understand it. Laura and I've talked about what happened to her and Rodney, but that was two consciousnesses in one body. Although she claims she could never really pick up his actual thoughts, she sometimes seems to know how he'll react in a certain situation – she seems to have fine-tuned the art of annoying Rodney, but I'm not sure if that's because of who she simply is or what happened." Carson smiled slyly to himself. Even when Sheppard was unavailable, Rodney had been quite hesitant to ask him to activate certain devices if he knew the lieutenant was nearby. Cadman could give the physicist a particular look and he'd turn tail, which was extremely unusual for the normally persistent Canadian.

Turning back to the matter at hand, Carson looked both at the sleeping colonel and the Athosian, as if trying to reassure them both, that what she had tentatively proposed would be the best course of action. "If you make this attempt, I don't know if you'll be focused on the colonel or these voices, and I'm a little worried that you may be overwhelmed as well." He didn't want to voice the thought that he might end up with a second, similarly afflicted patient, but the physician's face and posture conveyed his frustration with the situation, so far removed from anything else he had seen before.

"I am not afraid, Dr. Beckett," the Athosian said softly. "After all Colonel Sheppard has done, the attempt must be made. From what he has said, I do not know what would happen if he had to leave."

Carson nodded, then turned towards his office. "I am sure he will be glad to see you when he wakes."

Although she tried to concentrate and slip into a semi-meditative state, Teyla felt her mind wandering after a few minutes, and settled for flipping through one of the fashion magazines left nearby that seemed popular with several women in Atlantis.

"I think that most of the men in Atlantis wouldn't mind seeing you in that," commented one of the nurses as Teyla studied a particular dress. Seeing the Athosian's slightly puzzled look, she added. "Yes, I know it's completely impractical, you can't do much in, much less keep warm, but that's sort of the point. Men. They say it looks good on you, and will look even better on the floor." Both women exchanged a knowing look; some things were constant in any universe.

XXXXXXXX

Colonel Sheppard returned to conscious slowly, feeling the shock of being pulled from someplace warm and quiet into a colder, buzzing, white environment with all the all too familiar realization he'd been drugged. Again. As the memories of what transpired to put him in said state coalesced, he made no attempt to swat the usual penlight away, noting quietly the worried look on Carson's face at his quiet compliance. He'd have to file that reaction as something to remind the physician of later when he was complaining of disobedient patients. Off to the side he noticed Teyla standing at a discretionary distance, letting Beckett finish his exam. He was certain there was at least one Marine posted somewhere as well, since he probably wasn't still off the hook for his previous behavior. Hell, he couldn't blame them, he still didn't even trust himself. Who knew what remained in his head?

Carson had apparently finished his 'patient waking up check' and mentioned something about ordering him a tray, while giving Teyla a meaningful glance.

"Colonel," she queried, handing him a cup of water before he could even ask. Things couldn't be too bad if they'd skipped the straw, he figured, but then he noticed the ever so slight tremor in her voice.

"Colonel," she tried again, the quaver gone, replaced by a tone he couldn't quite place, somewhere between sympathy and guilt. "Dr. Weir has explained your situation to me. She is fearful if the situation is not resolved, you will be sent to Earth. I have never done this before, but I have come to offer my talent. Perhaps I can connect to the voices in your head, lead you through them. The gift to sense the Wraith is rare among my people, I have never met another like me to connect to, but the way Dr. Weir explained, it is possible. I do not know what will happen, but I am willing to try."

No." The word was out of his mouth without a single thought. If Rodney were witness to this conversation, he'd be muttering something about voodoo nonsense for sure. It even sounded like voodoo to him. It'd been hard enough to convince himself to let Kate try to get in his head, but the possibility Teyla could be there, quite literally? He didn't want to think about it. He hardly noticed as she nodded at him, rising out of the chair in one fluid motion and left. No emotion showed on her face, but he wasn't sure if it was for her benefit or his.

Sheppard spent a few moments trying to quell his idle thoughts before Carson appeared with a tray of supposed food. He didn't need to check a calendar to see that the Daedalus was due any day now, one quick glance at the food being served was good an indication as any, ranking just slightly above the MREs right now, especially since it was between harvests on the mainland. Someday he hoped to eliminate the words dehydrated and freeze-dried from his vocabulary, and unfortunately it looked like that time could be sooner than later.

He picked up a fork and jabbed at the pseudo-eggs, expecting Carson to glare a reminder to eat at him, but looked up again, when he didn't hear the physician leaving. Instead he found the Scot looking at him with a mixture of sympathy and fury, as only he could. When Sheppard didn't respond, Carson settled into the chair left at the bedside.

"You turned down Teyla's offer." Blue eyes held hazel ones for a moment, scolding the colonel's sudden rebellion.. "I can't understand what you went through, nor can I easily begin to resolve the situation when I don't even where to begin, but someone, some distant cousin of Teyla's, put something in your mind, and she may be the best shot at getting it out. I know you're a private man Colonel, and this hurts in more ways than one, but have you fully thought about the consequences? You're a danger to Atlantis and to the SGC, lad."

Sheppard's fork moved from the rubbery eggs to the brittle ribbons of bacon. As he predicted, they shattered with a little pressure, and he concentrated on raking the shards into a neat pile rather than respond to the physician's statement.

"I'm not going to lecture you on what will probably happen when you get sent back to Earth, I'll leave that to your imagination, although I'm sure Rodney has a few ideas he can add." Seeing that his statement didn't stir the Colonel's concentration from his food arrangement, Carson added softly, "If you don't do it for yourself, think about Teyla. She's found and lost family all in one day. This can't be easy for her. With your help, she's found the origins of her talents and now seen them used to potentially destroy a teammate, someone she's grown close to. Do you realize the risk she's taking? At least she's willing to try." Carson paused for a moment, scowling at his last words as unsure the direction his speech was headed. "I'm sorry, that came harsher than I expected. I know this hurts. As your physician, I can testify to what this is doing to you, and I have my own doubts whether it's worth putting you through this process to try any recall what happened, but we both know you can't continue to function like this. Moreover, you, I, Elizabeth, we know those in authority won't let you assume any duties or even remain in the military until they decide you're not a threat. Look, we need you. Atlantis needs you. What's going to happen if you leave? You know my track record with Ancient artifacts?" Carson grimaced for half a second at how selfish his last statement sounded, but noted the small spark in Sheppard's eyes, the first sign of hope he'd seen in days. "Think, Colonel," he finished putting his hand on the try for a moment, then headed back to his office mumbling something about proper nutrition.

The spark in the colonel's blossomed into a grin as Carson's slight of hand had deposited half a chocolate bar next to the hash browns. He wasn't sure if it was a bribe or an apology, but it was real chocolate. Sheppard lay still for a long time, unable to feel comfortable in his own skin. Even a shower and change of scrubs didn't help. He'd never felt so beaten down, so lost, until now. He couldn't be trusted, as evidenced by the pair of Marines who stayed just out of his line of sight when he tried pacing, hoping the cold of the floor would jolt into feeling something. Maybe he was the disappointment his father always raged against, especially after what happened in Afghanistan, but then his father couldn't have predicted this, a city straight out of legend, a city that called to him. He knew what he had to do.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Return to Sender: Chapter 11

A/N: Classes are over for the semester, but the joys of grad school mean you don't get a break with the end of the semester. However, I am going to try and get this story done by the end of the year.

Warnings for a bit of language.

He knew what he had to do, he just wished the decision didn't tear at him so much. He'd grown up in a military household with all the typical trappings – "keep a stiff upper lip" and 'men don't cry." In his father's view, sensitivity, at least when displayed outright, was a bit of a character flaw, and John, from an early age had developed a cocky attitude, partly to defend against any claims of being a 'sissy,' especially since he didn't hit his full height until late in high school. And partly to keep anyone from getting too close, because when you cared about someone and then something happened, it hurt, damnit. At least he could pretend, and he had become quite adept at pretending he didn't care. The military, ironically, had provided an excuse of sorts to care with their mantras of "making the world a better place" and never leave a man behind," philosophies he followed, that occasionally bit him in the ass, when he tried just a little too hard. Well, bit might have been an understatement in the case of Afghanistan; taking a large chunk was a more apt description.

And when things got rough, there was always flying; he always knew he was born to fly; that had been the tipping point, not his father's expectations for joining the Air Force. He didn't know what he would do if he couldn't fly. Maybe that was why he had always tried to help the birds with broken wings or chicks fallen from nests he'd found growing up. He knew that they, like him belonged in the sky, not on the ground. That was why he'd taken the assignment in Antarctica, he still could fly. Then he stumbled into this, Atlantis, complete with aircraft that were any pilot's wet dream. He couldn't give up flying and this place, not when he felt he was finally home, complete with family, albeit sometimes an extremely dysfunctional family.

Carson had quietly been observing the man's pacing, knowing the colonel faced a difficult decision. To be fair, everyone had their share of demons they wished to keep private, but the physician guessed the man had more than his share. The prospect of what someone might reveal could be terrifying to both parties; perhaps that had been part of the reason for grabbing him, although the how and why still remained elusive.

"Colonel?" he asked the man in question who had stopped his pacing and was now finger-combing his hair with a slightly trembling hand.

"Tell Teyla I'll do it," the words came out in a rush, as if he were making a split decision and knew he couldn't reconsider. "Just, I don't want to do it here, no monitors, no Kate."

"As much as I'd like to oblige, Colonel, none of us knows what's going to happen." Seeing the exasperated expression on Sheppard's face, the physician softened his tone. "Kate's probably going to be a little upset at the lack of invitation, but I think I can understand your reluctance for an audience. I'm not going to make any promises, but give me a few hours and let me talk to Teyla to see what she's comfortable with."

"Thanks, doc," Sheppard replied with s quick grin, the first such flash of the old colonel the physician had seen in quite awhile, what he had hoped to see after all those months.

Carson headed back towards his office, presumably to make a few arrangements, leaving Colonel Sheppard to stare at his rapidly disappearing back and mull over what he had just agreed to. Part of him wanted to race after Carson and take back what he had said, but he knew he was committed now; better to at least try this before he faced a commitment of another sort. He idly wondered how fast word of his choice would spread; Zelenka was probably running bets on the decision, no matter how busy McKay was keeping him. He tried to settle back on the bed when a wave of pain and rage washed over him – his pain and someone else's rage, searing white-hot anger, frustration, and rejection, they seemed to tear through his very soul. He put his hands to head to try and shut out the swelling chorus, now growing eerily familiar. Squeezing his eyes shut, he again thought about calling Carson back and changing his mind, he didn't think he could put Teyla through this as well.

"Colonel?" There was a note of concern mixed with the usual sarcasm as McKay entered the room balancing one of his ever-present laptops and stabbing at various points on the screen. "No, no, you idiot," he trailed off, catching Sheppard's eye again. "Sorry, the minions, not you, for the moment, although I wouldn't have this headache if it wasn't for you. However, given what I've heard you've been going through, I'll spare you the chewing out I think you really deserve, especially if you can remember exactly how you managed to come up with the encryption code you did. We've got most of the functions restored, but a key would be handy right about now."

"Sorry Rodney, still having trouble with the recall." Sheppard shifted slightly and winced again from an image that suddenly flared up, seeing himself laying battered on a stone floor, a ring of black robed strangers pressing around him, murmuring. "I'm just stiff from laying around all day, you know how uncomfortable these infirmary beds are," he added when he noticed the Canadian studying him. The look McKay gave him said he believed that comment about as much Kavanaugh had the potential for winning an award for congeniality.

"I told Beckett I'd go through with Teyla's proposal, what do I have to lose," he added quietly, trying to head off any comments.

"Well, that's got to be a first. An alien babe wants to get in your head rather than your pants," snarked Rodney, grateful to be shifting the subject away from possibly unpleasant topics. "What," he added, seeing the scowl suddenly appearing on the pilot's face. "It's something straight out of any Star Trek fantasy; hot alien chick wants to mind meld with you, and Teyla doesn't even have the ears…" the physicist shrugged, a hint of wistful nostalgia in his voice.

"I'm debating whether or should simply tell Teyla what you consider her and let her kick you around the gym for awhile, or tell Ronon what you think of Teyla and let him intercept any desserts on your tray for the next few weeks. I hear he's become quite fond of blue jello. Actually, come to think of it, if I tell them both, within a month, you might actually be able to keep up with us on any missions, not to mention carry your own gear. I'm sure the marines would thank me, for both saving them from fetching and carrying, not to mention providing them a much needed source of entertainment."

"Sheppard," ground out the exasperated scientist, interrupting the colonel's explanation of the thanks he'd get from his men. "As they say, if the shoe fits. You do have the Captain Kirk persona here in Pegasus. The women just flock to you, even the city is in love with you. Course, some of that might be mutual. I've seen the way you stroke the controls of the puddlejumpers. In some countries that would be considered pornographic."

"Pornographic? This coming from a man that probably takes his laptop to bed with him? There's simply a connection between a craft and her pilot, and McKay you're definitely no pilot, trust me. You can't even fly a straight line."

A cough from the doorway interrupted the escalating bickering, as both men turned to see the expedition's leader calmly standing there wearing an amused look, and she had to bite her lip to keep from grinning as both men pinked slightly, McKay mumbling something about checking progress as he brushed past her.

"So I suppose Carson, informed you. Looking for a ticket to the freak show." The comment came out as a statement rather than a question and he regretted the sarcastic tome when he saw Dr. Weir stiffen. Dark crescents were visible under her eyes and he knew it wasn't smudged eye makeup. The months must have been hard on her, his return even worse.

"Yes, Carson, told me of your decision, but I don't think it's a spectacle. I would have thought by now you'd understand I'd respect your privacy and I hold Teyla's abilities in high regard. I wish there were other options, but time may not be on our side. Teyla's taking a huge risk, and I appreciate it." Elizabeth quietly replied, ever the diplomat, but there was something in her tone that didn't quite get stifled. Colonel Sheppard realized with a start that both she and Rodney were dancing around the fact that if something didn't happen, soon, he would not be able to stay on Atlantis; and more importantly they would miss him. He'd never thought he could get so attached to one place or the people he was with.

"John, I just wanted to say 'good luck.' This place wouldn't be the same without you."

"Elizabeth," he hesitated, as a dozen smart-ass remarks automatically flittered through his mind, mostly about how they actually might be better off without him, with Caldwell in charge. "Thanks. Thanks for believing in me and not giving up yet," he finished. It certainly summed up the last few years, although somewhat inadequately.

She seemed to understand and gently squeezed his hand as Carson entered the room.

"Colonel, Elizabeth, I think Teyla is almost ready. There's been a few compromises in your demands, but I think you'll understand. Kate's obviously not too happy, I wouldn't be expecting a Christmas card from her, but I think she understands. If you will follow me, we've got a space set up for you," Carson bustled, his brogue thickening slightly with nervousness.

The space turned out to be an emptied supply closet off the main room of the infirmary. A dozen or so candles flickered from various spots and an exotic, yet strangely comforting scent from incense hung in the air. Teyla was already seated on the floor, a small, rough-hewn tea set next to her. She silently indicated he should sit across from her. For a brief moment, eyes closed and sitting cross-legged, Sheppard thought he was back in the bazaar near Kabul, at least until the cold from the floor permeated his scrub pants and he wished he had something to sit on.

"Ok, doc, now you're killing the mood," he complained as he felt small discs being applied to his temples and noticed Teyla was suffering the same procedure, like some bizarre wedding ritual.

"Sorry," replied Carson, not all apologetic. "I said there were a few compromises. Given how little we know about how the mind works, and even less about telepathy. This could be valuable research, especially with your reports of Wraith interrogation methods."

Sheppard groaned inwardly and mentally added one more category where he'd become a reluctant guinea pig.

"All set Colonel, Teyla," Carson cheerfully finished as he double-checked Sheppard's blood pressure cuff. "We'll be right outside the door should you need us."

"I don't think I'll be able to relax," started Sheppard, only to be interrupted by Teyla's soft voice.

"Tell me what happened, Colonel," she instructed, and then he was falling. When he recovered, he was kneeling on a smooth stone floor in some sort of cellar. The cold had seeped into his joints, and couldn't help but think he'd never get warm again. The cold was little comfort to his aching ribs and splinted arm, for they were staring at him again, these figures in black, pressing in, until he felt almost claustrophobic, even though they were several feet away.

"No," he cried struggling against the chorus swelling inside his head, blotting out all other sound. There was, however, an additional voice this time, rising above everything else.

""John." He looked up to see Teyla, staying there, straight off the runway, in a fuck-me red dress.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Return to Sender: Chapter 12

A/N: Slowly, but surely. I think there are two more chapters after this.

"Teyla," he felt the words catch in his throat as he looked at her, some rare tropical bird among the crows. He could count on one hand the number of times she called him by his first name. Surely this had to be another illusion they'd conjured up for him, things they kept telling him, whispering even in his sleep. They were slowly wearing him down, like water constantly pounding against cliff-rocks; sooner or later he was simply going to collapse. Sheppard knew he couldn't keep them out, eventually they'd win; how do you resist when words are weapons, each needle sharp? He couldn't believe the things they kept telling him, lies repeated over and over. Things he knew couldn't be true, didn't want to be true, yet some small part of him wanted to agree with them, just to stop the voices. At least he had the pain to focus on, for now. These people, he didn't want to call them Athosians, for they defiled everything he'd come to understand about Teyla, Halling, Jinto and the rest, had thought they could soften him, break his will, if they could break a few bones first.

"Teyla," he breathed again, when she didn't vanish. She smiled, stepping closer to him. Under any other circumstances he would have been grinning like an idiot. Seeing Teyla dressed up had been a subject of discussion on multiple occasions among the male military contingent on Atlantis. Generally they had to be careful she was somewhere else; Teyla could make a man go weak in the knees, usually as a result of some unanticipated move in their sparring matches, closely followed by hard bodily contact with the floor. It was a little like realizing that your best friend's younger sister was hot, generally leading to more than a few conflicting feelings.

Dr. Beckett noted the sudden spike in readings from both Teyla and the colonel, Sheppard's a little sharper and concluded that something must have happened. Nearby, the two members of the expedition with backgrounds in neuroscience shot each other puzzled looks as they studied the readings, bewilderment and fascination warring across their faces. "_Apparently, not all new frontiers were external_." muttered Carson, debating whether or not to interfere as the pilot's readings indicated a high degree of anxiety once again. Fearing the worse, the physician grabbed one of the pre-loaded syringes he'd assembled as a precaution, based on the last attempt to get Sheppard to remember his experiences and was about to enter the room when the various monitors quieted down.

"Teyla? Here? How do I know you're real," he whispered, as if fearful he might direct his tormentors' attentions to her.

"Yes Colonel, I'm here," she replied softly, taking in the scene around her. Despite the grim surroundings, she allowed herself a small smile as the colonel blushed slightly at her appearance. She could guess the reason almost immediately and resisted the urge to tease the pilot. "No Colonel, I cannot search your mind, I can only enter the scene you have called up, but I believe my appearance might help me convince you that I am real. I have seen the expression on yours and Dr. McKay's faces when you have flipped through the nurses' magazines." She studied their surroundings again. "Why won't they let you remember this," she asked, indicating the scene.

"Don't know," he gritted out, "they just keep whispering to me, wanting to get in my head. Can't let them." The sudden look on his face displayed more pain than she had ever seen before. Pain and desperation and despair. She shook her head as the environment darkened around her. A sudden flash and montage of images swirled past her. Colonel Sheppard at various ages, being reprimanded and told 'he was a disappointment" and "he should know better," a couple times she caught glimpses of him repeating the words to himself, feeling the anger and frustration. "I woke the Wraith. All those lives I am responsible for, all those I can't save! My men, my friends, the city," he rattles off names, some she was familiar with, others foreign, from another time and place.

"Colonel, you know that is not true." Teyla grabbed his shoulders for him to face her. The shame and fury he was radiating were so tangible that it took her another moment to detect something else, feeding on these emotions, but amplifying and twisting them. It felt, for all intents and purposes, like one of the illusions the Wraith presented to distract. She held still for a moment, silently willing Sheppard to relax, trying to pass on some of the forced calm from her. He closed his eyes and the cell brightened once again.

Something tickled at the back of her mind, the amplifier of the feelings from before, a delicate loose thread, fine as cobweb, dangling tantalizingly close by. Teyla concentrated, trying to feel out the expanse of these threads, see the tapestry that had bound up the colonel. She pushed, and pulled within her own mind, trying to seek out the filaments of Colonel Sheppard's, finally seeing the finely woven net of knots surrounding the man. Later, when Beckett and Heightmeyer would press Teyla for further details of what she'd seen and her actions, the Athosian would be apologetic and unable to find the words to adequately describe the situation. She'd just known what she had to do.

There was no way at the moment for her to tear through the knots to free the colonel, but somehow she herself was able to slip inside and outside of the webbing she finally glimpsed surrounding the man. She couldn't, however, convince Sheppard it was possible; he was a prisoner of his own mind, a prison with shrinking walls. The more he struggled, the more he tried to remember, the tighter the snare became. She didn't want to think what would happen when it collapsed in on the colonel, although she'd gotten the impression that the effects of this interrogation were still ongoing, even though Colonel Sheppard was safely in Atlantis, just knew he'd be lost forever.

"Teyla, don't leave me, you can't leave me," Sheppard pleaded. His tone of voice frightened her; it did not belong to a man who faced down the Wraith and withstood torture countless times. Instead she was reminded of her own heartbreak on one of the rare occasions he had left her with friends as headed out on a trading mission. She sighed, momentarily at a loss for what to do, twining her fingers around the knots of the illusion, even though she knew Sheppard couldn't see it really wasn't at all there. The knots pulsed against her palm, and she felt slightly sick and disoriented from the flood of emotions, not hers. She pulled her hand back, then grabbed one of the knots again, searching for something.

Dr. Beckett had tried to explain some basics of how the brain might work the second time she had contacted the Wraith, convinced them the city was destroyed in the tremendous explosion they'd witnessed, but his words did not make much sense. Likewise, she didn't really comprehend what she had learned she could do now, what she realized she had to do, just understood.

"I will protect you," she promised Colonel Sheppard, trying to calm him, the pleading look on his face well past his usual 'puppy-dog' endearing to something bordering on outright panic. "_Distraction. The mind sees what it wants to believe_," one of the marines had told her, trying to explain a card trick that relied heavily on illusion. If Colonel Sheppard was haunted by the illusion his captors had created, she would build one of her own, to distract while she destroyed what was trapping him. Within the confines of the trap he was currently in, she hastily conjured a new location.

Sheppard blinked and Teyla was gone, as were the walls of his cellar-like prison. Instead he was kneeling in the sand on a beach somewhere, and with a start, realized it looked a lot like one of his favorite spots to go surfing. Well, almost. The sand was a little grainier than he remembered, and the waves were almost a little too perfect and regular, like there was a wave machine, and a few other details were off, slightly distorted, as if someone had tried to create a virtual reality of a place they'd seen, but never been. Somehow he knew Teyla was behind all this. She'd pulled him out of wherever he had been and stuck him here. He knew he should be a little more worried, but the san and air were warm, and the sun felt good on his back. He settled into a more comfortable position to watch the breakers, feeling a twinge of guilt for wishing she'd included a surfboard.

From his observation post, Carson could easily see Colonel Sheppard suddenly collapse bonelessly into the floor. This was certainly cause for alarm, although a quick glance at EEG and other monitors indicated the man had fallen into a deep sleep, the first non-drug induced since his return. Carson idly wondered what had transpired for that to happen, but his more pressing concern at the moment was Teyla's readings; several alarms had begun to wail and without a second thought he rushed into the room. Teyla's face was covered with a fine sheen of sweat and Carson could clearly see her agitation.

"Teyla, love, what happened," he asked as calmly as he could, trying to mask any alarm hr felt, while one of his nurses checked on Sheppard.

"I know what they did," dark brown eyes bored into his, as she gripped his arm when went to remove the blood pressure cuff. "I could not convince Colonel Sheppard of the illusion he was in, so I created another one. I believe it is one of his favorite beaches. He is safe for now, but I do not know what will happen if I cannot undo what they did to him."

"Aye, we've seen proof of that. They attempt to sabotage the ZPM and who knows what else through him. They grabbed him from under our noses, messed with his head, then returned him to sender," the Scot unconsciously rubbed the scab on his neck as he supervised those gently loading Sheppard onto a gurney, untangling various wires as they went. Teyla got up to follow, trying to unstuck a few of the EEG electrodes when the physician shook his head at her.

"I'm afraid those need to stay. I want to continue to monitor the both of you. Your readouts were alarming more frequently than I expected." he smiled inwardly when she was more cooperative than his two most frequent patients. His brain was still processing what she had said about creating illusions. There would be time for questions later although he couldn't help but think, "_Weird was becoming a little too regular an occurrence_."

"Do not worry Dr. Beckett, I will be fine." She reached a hand out to him, as if to his allay his unspoken fears about losing them both. Her confidence was momentarily shaken when he hesitated for just a second and she realized he still carried a few unseen scars from his encounter with Michael.

TBC

A/N: Ok, I was really unsure about this part and the next. Getting in someone's head brings so many things to mind. The best idea I could come up with (without being too cheesy) was finding yourself in the middle of a scene, like one of those dioramas from grade school.


End file.
